The question was stupid, but it gets him to lift his head and look at me through the mirror. His eyes meet mine, and whatever’s in them—anger, fear, shame—hits me square in the chest. This isn’t the Jasper who smirks and flirts and pretends nothing can touch him. This is the man underneath. The one who’s been carrying ghosts for years. “I didn’t want you to seeme like that,” he says. His voice is rough, like it scraped its way out of his throat. “I didn’t want you hearing any of it. But he just—what he said—I—”
His jaw clenches. He looks away again, like he can’t stand to see whatever he thinks might be reflected back at him. “I just lost it. I felt it happen, but I couldn’t stop it.”
I step closer. Slowly. Carefully. Not because I’m afraid, but because I know he is. “Jasper,” I say as gently as possible, and the sound of his name makes his shoulders tense. “Look at me.”
He doesn’t.
So I reach out. My hand settles on his forearm first. It’s solid. Warm. Grounding. His muscles jump under my touch, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’ve seen men like them. The kind who hurt because they like it. Because they feel entitled to it." He swallows hard. “And I’ve seen you, too, Jasper. You’re not them. You’re not anything like them.”
That finally does it.
He turns fully, eyes shining now, not with rage, but with something dangerously close to breaking. “After everything you’ve been through,” he says hoarsely. “After everything that’s been done to you… How can you even look at me after what you just saw? What you heard?”
My chest tightens.
“I… I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he continues, voice cracking. “But I’d understand if you were.”
I lift my hands before he can retreat again, and I cup his face. His skin is warm under my palms, stubble rough against my thumbs as they brush against his cheeks. His eyes flutter shut, like the contact alone is too much.
“You’re nothing like them,” I repeat.
His breath stutters.
“Their anger is selfish,” I explain. “It takes. It consumes. It destroys things. Breaks them until there are no pieces to putback together.” I brush my thumb gently under his eye. “Yours is protective. It’s a pain that never healed. It’s love twisted up with fear. It’s you trying to put the people you love back together.”
His eyes open, searching my face like he’s desperate for confirmation.
“You didn’t scare me,” I tell him. “You made me feel safe.”
Silence stretches between us, thick, heavy, and electric.
The air feels charged now. It’s different. Warmer.
His hands hover at my waist, not touching, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away.
I don’t.
Instead, I step in until my body fits against his, until I can feel his heartbeat racing through his chest. His breath ghosts over my cheek, and the intensity of his gaze shifts—still dark, still shaken—now threaded with something hot and aching. Something unmistakable.
Lust.
It’s raw and unfiltered. Held back by nothing but sheer will.
“I don’t want to do this in the bathroom at a bar, Abigail,” he whispers, like it’s costing him something to say the words out loud.
Swallowing, I lean in, my mouth close enough that he can feel my words more than hear them. “I don’t care anymore, Jasper. Just do it.”
The silence after that says everything words never could.
And this time… this time my lips finally touch his.
His mouth crashes into mine like he’s been holding himself back for years instead of minutes. There’s no hesitation this time. No carefulness. Just raw need and shaking restraint.
Jasper’s hands slide into my hair, fingers gripping like he’s afraid the second he relaxes, this will all end. The kiss is bruising. Desperate. And I kiss him back just as hard. Just as reckless.
He growls low in his chest, the sound vibrating straight through me, and then suddenly my feet aren’t on the floor anymore as he lifts me like I weigh nothing. But I know the muscles that hide beneath his clothes, I’ve seen firsthand what he can do with them.
I gasp against his mouth as my legs wrap around his waist on instinct, my body reacting before my brain can catch up. His hands lock under my thighs, holding me there, keeping me close, right where I belong. He carries me the few short steps to the door and presses me back against it, the solid wood thudding softly behind me.
